Gemini
by Indigo Oblivion
Summary: 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' After the Championships in Moscow, Kai is faced with the impossible task of piecing his mind back together. But can he do it alone?
1. The Mirror

_**Summary:** 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together? _

_**Disclaimer:** Kai, Voltaire and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. Mori Towers and Chiyoda are real places and they belong to, well, Japan. I own nothing!  
_

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**The Mirror.**

Kai stared into the hard, lined face of the man before him. There was no mistaking it. Those hard, black eyes; that cruel furrow between the brows; the mean curve of the top lip – the result of a life-long sneer.

"It's that one, number four," he said softly. "That's him. My grandfather."

Kai felt the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. His crimson eyes flickered sharply over to the officer behind him, at which point the hand was quickly removed. Kai didn't enjoy his personal space being encroached upon at the best of times – and this moment, in this darkened room, was as far removed from his best time as it was possible to be.

Too narrow. Four dank, concrete walls. One door. A single, measly, low-wattage light-bulb. And a large one-way-mirror.

On the other side of the glass stood seven men all in a row, bearing a number from one through to seven. Each were tall and brooding. Each had their youth far behind them. Each looked capable of cruelty. But none of those faces held a candle to the one his eyes bore into now.

"There's no pressure," said the man behind him, in what Kai imagined were supposed to be reassuringly soothing tones. Kai felt his hands curl into fists inside his pockets. Pathetic. Pitiful. This is what that man thought of him. As though he was weak. As though he needed reassurance. As though he wouldn't recognize his own grandfather standing before him. "Take as long as you –"

"– No." Kai said curtly. "It's him." Then he turned on his heel, removed his hands from his pockets and let himself out of the suffocating little room without another word.

Three weeks and two days. That's how long his grandfather was on the run for until the police found and apprehended him. It wasn't an impressive amount of time by any means. For all the money and connections his grandfather had, he ought to have lasted much longer. But he didn't. And, for some reason, this disappointed Kai. It was… Kai paused in his tracks for a moment to unravel what exactly he thought it was.

Anti-climatic. Thats what it was. A mediocre end for a promising villain in a show which, admittedly, had potential. But this wasn't a show and Voltaire wasn't a villain. This was Kai's life, and his grandfather was just an old fool who mistook his wealth and ambition for invincibility. That was all.

Just three, short weeks.

The post-tournament celebrations were barely over with. The Bladebreakers had gone their separate ways: Rei back to China with his old team, the wounds from his battle with Bryan now fading some; Max back to America to spend a little more time with his mother; Tyson, Kenny and Kai returned home to Tokyo – they back to Bakuten to await the start of the school year, and he to one of his grandfather's apartment complexes in Chiyoda.

It was raining when Kai stepped out of police station and into the street. He was bombarded from all angles by microphones and camera flashes – desperate journalists buffeted their way past the police line beneath umbrellas, trying to get the latest scoop. Kai turned his head down against the rain and made straight for the car. He didn't relax until he felt the purr of the engine breathe life into the machine and the chauffeur pull out to begin the long drive home.

Hiwatari. If it wasn't a name that everyone knew before, then they certainly knew about it now. And he was the sole heir to it all. Heir to a legacy of riches dipped in blood.

The media must be having a field day. The great Voltaire Hiwatari, head of Hiwatari Enterprises, exposed as a criminal and a fraud – and his grandson, at the tender age of fifteen, was to inherit everything. Of course, at fifteen, he didn't have to worry about the business. The responsibility for the company would lie with the main share-holders, for now. He wouldn't have to take up the gauntlet and lead the company until he turned twenty. The majority of his wealth was locked into a trust-fund until that time, too. He was entitled, however, to a monthly living allowance that probably amounted to more than most ordinary people might earn in a lifetime.

Kai turned his eyes to the side and gazed past the rain-flecked window, watching the lights dance by in the steadily darkening streets of downtown Chiyoda. He stifled a yawn and ran tired fingers through his damp hair, shifting uncomfortably on the leather seats. The sleepless nights were beginning to weigh him down. For as long as he could remember, he had been a night owl. Now, he couldn't even say he was nocturnal. His periods of sleep had no pattern, they came and went as they pleased. For the past week, Kai would stay up late and try to relax himself with a novel, or else tire himself out on the treadmill, before taking a hot bath and dragging himself to bed. He'd drift off to sleep around 1 am.

But then the dreams would come and he'd wake up, smothered by the blankets, unable to control his sweats and shivers and sharp, ragged breathing. Disoriented, he'd spend the night tossing and turning, or else pacing agitatedly from room to room. He'd take out the trash and rearrange the furniture. He'd take Dranzer apart and put it back together again. He'd put the furniture back in its place and brew some coffee for the morning. Always, he would avoid looking at his reflection. Then daylight would rise and he, exhausted by the night's pacing from room to room, could be found passed out on the couch, or else slumped over the kitchen table, while the smell of burnt coffee lingered in the air and the morning sun danced roses over his feverish cheeks.

Slowly, the car lurched to a stop and Kai exited the vehicle, not bothering to wait for the chauffeur to arrive at his door with an umbrella. He kept his head turned down and when the rain fell beneath the collar of his shirt and raked icy fingernails down his back, Kai shivered, but not from the cold.

He stepped inside the foyer of Mori Towers and made his way towards the residential elevators. It was a newly developed complex and, of all the apartments his grandfather bought, was the most recently acquired. Voltaire probably hadn't even gotten around to using it yet, which is why Kai chose to live here above all the rest.

It was a long ride to the his penthouse apartment on the twenty-third floor. Inside the elevator, his mind flitted back to his grandfather and he wondered vaguely what he was doing now. Kai's acknowledgement of him back at the station had sealed his fate. BioVolt was, for all intents and purposes, a Russian organization. Voltaire's schemes to turn in into a world power would be counted as treason against Japan. There would be a court case over his many crimes, but there was no question. He was a dead man.

Kai stepped out of the elevator and into his apartment, shrugging off his damp leather jacket and throwing it to the side. Lethargically, he went through the motions of turning on the television and flicking through the channels, before getting up and rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat. During the months spent with Tyson and Max, despite all of his efforts to extract himself from their company untarnished, he'd unconsciously adopted their love of cereals. It was cereals his stomach craved now. Flicking his damp hair out of his eyes, he poured the small, wheaten treats into a bowl and went to grab the milk. Untwisting the cap and pouring it over the bowl, the bottle oozed out a repulsive mixture of some thin, watery, yellowish substance along with thick gloops of white cream. The sight and smell of it alone was enough to make Kai's stomach churn.

Dropping the offending bottle, it shattered on the floor he raced for the bathroom, bile burning its way up his chest. He made it just in time and gripped the edge of the sink as a strained heave racked its way through his body. He didn't lose much – just the bile he felt rising and what was left of the coffee he drank earlier. He hadn't been eating much lately. Still, even with an empty stomach he couldn't shake off the nausea, and spent the next minute or so heaving. He couldn't help but note the way his elbows shook a little.

Stress. That's what they'd say it was.

At just fifteen, he was the unofficial head of Hiwatari Enterprises, bearing its legacy on his shoulders, living completely alone. He had just lost the last of his family members to the law. Who wouldn't be stressed? He had five years to grow into a man worthy of bearing the Hiwatari name. Whether that was a person he thought he could be, or even wanted to be, was not the question. He would simply have to become that person. And anybody facing such a challenge to their identity is bound to feel considerable stress.

But that wasn't it.

Kai rinsed the sink out with cold water, before cupping some of it in his hands and bringing it up to his face. It freshened him a little, after the clamminess of nausea. Turning the tap off again, he saw his knuckles were white. He sighed.

Kai knew who he had to become, and that, frankly, wasn't the issue. That wasn't why he was stressed, and it wasn't why he was lost. He always knew he'd inherit the company someday, and was actually quite looking forward to taking the reigns and running things his way. The ability to lead was in his blood.

He was stressed because he just wasn't sure who he was _now_. He was lost because he wasn't sure who he was _before_.

Slowly, Kai gripped the edge of the bathroom counter and steeled himself. Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks.

A child, with slate bangs and a scruffy face. His eyes were crimson, and deadened with the shadows of horrors that no child his age should ever have seen. His pale skin was grazed and bruised from the strain of training beyond his years. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed.

Until now.

Kai tore his eyes away from the glass and turned away, leaning his weight back against the counter. Each passing night brought new dreams, new nightmares. He couldn't distinguish which of them were memories, and which were simply dreams. Perhaps some of them were memories of dreams, and memories of nightmares. He didn't know. He didn't know anything besides his name.

Kai Hiwatari. Teenage billionaire. Heir to Hiwatari Enterprises. Beyblading World Champion. Captain of the Bladebreakers. Captain of the Bladesharks. A member of the Demolition Boys. A douche by nature. A douche because he felt like it. A douche because he was afraid. Because he was a victim of the Abbey. Because he was a child of tragedy. Because he forgot the tragedy.

Was that child in the mirror really him?

He just didn't know.

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**_A/N: _**_Hi guys! Well, I'm feeling in a very **emo-Kai** mood today apparently, this story literally planted itself into my head last night and pretty much just wrote itself within the last couple hours or so. I've got a basic idea for where it's going, but I may just leave it as a one-shot unless there are people who want me to update. xD **So, review review if you want to see more!**_

_On a slightly unrelated note, I've totally based Kai's apartment on a real place. Look up the **Hirakawacho Penthouse #2303** if you want to see it. It is amazing and costs like, **9million USDollars apparently**. Like, whoa. D:  
_

_Anyway, that's it from me today! See you on Saturday with an update for **Spaces**. :D_

_~Indie  
_


	2. Sting

_**Summary:** 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together? _

_**Disclaimer:** __Kai and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. Asahi, Otaru and Saporro are brands of Japanese beer and they belong to, well... themselves.  
_

_**A/N: **Well, I decided I couldn't leave this unfinished. :3 This will probably turn out to be a short series of its own, so stay tuned. Brief alcohol warning for the chapter ahead: what can I say, things tend to get worse before they get better.  
_

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**Sting.**

Through the fog in his brain, Kai could hear a loud, shrill bleeping inside the apartment. ...Why? Why was there bleeping inside his apartment?

'_Doo-doo dah, doo-doo-dah…. Doo-doo-dah, doo-doo-dah.'_

Two low notes followed by a higher note, and then quickly repeated. There was a long pause before the whole sequence was repeated again. He was sure he'd heard it before. But why was it here? Where was it coming from?

"Whuzzza, huhh…?" Kai's brain mumbled, trying to figure out what was happening through the sluggish haze of sleep. It failed. The incessant bleeping made it difficult for him to figure out much of anything.

'_Doo-doo-dah, doo-doo-dah…. Doo-doo-dah, doo-doo-dah…. Doo-doo-dah, doo-doo-dah.'_

...That _pissing_ phone. It was ringing.

Why was it ringing? It shouldn't be ringing. He unplugged the cord within two days of moving in because the stupid thing annoyed him half to death with its constant ringing. Kai opened his eyes, blearily looking around for the damn thing so he could level a glare at it. But his tired eyes did nothing more than squint around blindly in the sudden light.

The maintenance man. Kai groaned, remembering the previous day.

In the two weeks that had passed since identifying his grandfather in the line-up, he'd been breaking a lot of things around the apartment – but the microwave really was the last straw. It just… stopped working. It still lit up, turned around and told him the time – it simply refused to heat. What good was an appliance if it refused to do the _one thing_ it was built for? So he plugged in the phone again and called the tower's maintenance man, asking him to do a sweep of the apartment while he was out that day. He was to fix everything in the apartment that needed fixing, but especially the microwave.

Then Kai left. Leaving the phone connected. And forgot all about it.

Languidly, he weighed up the pros and cons of getting up off the couch and disconnecting the stupid thing again. He could gain silence in exchange for wrenching his heavy, aching limbs off the sofa. Or, he could endure the shrill ringing and stay exactly where he was, sprawled face down over the arm of the couch, with his untamed hair falling wildly over his eyes and pins and needles tripping their way up his left arm.

Kai's mind had just began to drift into wondering when exactly he became so pathetically indecisive, when the phone quit bleeping and the ringer was taken to the voicemail. The decision was made for him. Kai would stay exactly where he was.

– _Kaaa~aai…. Kai-kai-kai-kai-kai! Kai, man, pick up the phone, already! –_

"Sonofabitch," Kai grumbled, his bleary eyes snapping open at the sound of the offending voice coming out through the phone's speaker. Tyson. He'd forgotten how the teen had that quality of voice that just made you want to vomit. And he'd been doing enough of _that_ lately, thank you, without his idiotic motor-mouthed ex-teammate helping matters.

– _Come on Kai, pick up! It's four-thirty, it ain't like you're sleeping or anything! –_

Hah, four-thirty. No, he really shouldn't be sleeping. Kai shifted his weight and turned into a sitting position on the couch, but immediately wished he hadn't. The movement made his head throb like a bitch and caused the room to spin. Gravity was punishing him again. He smirked in spite of himself. He shouldn't have expected anything less, really. Leaning forward, he held his head in his hands and closed his eyes. Inhale. Exhale.

– …_Tyson, he's probably out. So just leave a message – you know he won't appreciate you clogging up the answer phone… –_

Hn. Sounded like Kenny in the background. What did they think they were doing, phoning him anyway? He didn't want to speak to them. He didn't want to speak to anyone. That's why he let his cellphone die. It's why he unplugged the landline. It's why he didn't give anyone the number to this apartment. Speaking of which… how did they get this number?

– _Tchh, fine. Oi, Kai, listen up. – _ Oh. Tyson was talking again. Kai wished he wouldn't. – _I dunno why you're ignoring all our messages, dude, but it ain't cool! Kenny wanted me to tell you that we're worried about you –_

Kai bristled at this. Worried? Worry equated to pity and he didn't need that. He didn't need or want anybody's pity.

– _but I wanna tell you that I think you're being a total grouch again and ya should just quit the act already, 'cause it ain't foolin' me. ...Come on dude, it's been like a month already. Stop ignoring me, just answer the stupid phone already so I can ––_

Tyson's voice was cut off as the recording reached its limit, so Kai never found out what it was Tyson wanted to do if he ever answered the phone.

Not that it mattered. He wouldn't be answering the phone anyway. With the Championships over with, he simply had nothing else to say to them. They never had anything in common to begin with – and now, there was nothing he could say to them that they would understand.

As if to prove this to himself, Kai slowly pushed himself off the couch and blundered his way past the furniture to the hall by the front door. There, he bent down and unplugged the little black cord which killed off all the handsets around the apartment. Standing up, he leant backwards against the hall and clumsily ran his fingers through his unkempt hair while his head gave another dull throb. Painkillers.

Kai began this morning, or afternoon rather, the same way he'd began most days recently: scouting the kitchen for painkillers. He'd developed a terrible, unconscious habit of placing them in a different spot each time he took them, so the hunt was a self-inflicted, unnecessary necessity if he wanted to relieve the gnawing pain between his ears that he woke up with each day. Today, he found them by the apples in the fruit bowl and, ignoring the faint, but increasingly insistent tapping on the windows, he opened the little box and popped out two, small, round white pills. He swallowed them without water.

Kai leant back on the counter and rubbed his temples, before opening his eyes and looking sideways under his lids into the lounge. There, on the coffee table, were littered a number of empty, dark-glassed bottles and cans. Asahi, Otaru, Saporro. Conclusive evidence of his recently acquired bad habit. Sighing, he pushed himself off the counter and walked over to the coffee table, gathering the bottles and cans up into his arms.

Within the space of a week, what started off as curiosity quickly became second nature.

It began the first time he heard his own name called out to him, in an echo of his own voice. He'd began a frantic, desperate search of the apartment for anything that might make it stop. It was bad enough that the memories assaulted him during his sleeping hours. His waking hours should have been safe. So when Kai stumbled upon the cooking sake in the cupboard, almost too conveniently, he'd wondered… why not? It was worth a try. It tasted like shit – but three-quarters of the way through the bottle, the boy had grown quiet, and Kai felt more relaxed than he had since the first day he stepped through the doors of the Abbey with his team.

Thus, with the numbing promise of oblivion, his daily routine had changed. He now spent his afternoons shaking off a hangover (and, ironically, restoring his supplies), his evenings grinding his body into the ground in the training room, his nights dodging his own reflection, and his mornings in a drunken stupor. It was just easier that way.

But the nights had been growing increasingly worse. Kai found himself, even despite the drinking, fighting sleep at every turn, because it was only in sleeping that he seemed to remember. His mind projected memories he didn't want to see – memories that, in his waking hours, he refused to believe he'd seen at all. Images of nameless, faceless boys, training themselves into the dust. The creaking of doors and the cracking of whips. Soulless chants that preceded battle. A flash of blue. A glimpse of red, pooling on the stone-flagged ground. The screams of those who lost just one too many times, disappearing into the darkness, never to be seen again.

It was like another life on a movie reel, scene by scene, always disjointed and chaotic, burrowing its way into Kai's mind, searing itself onto his eyelids. One night he was six years old, soldiering his way through spoilt milk on gruel in the mess hall. The next he was ten and dismantling firearms. Then he was eight and walking through the dark stone corridors, heading to his first death-match. It was too much. It wasn't the life he thought he knew.

He was _Kai Hiwatari._ He was cold. A jerk. An arrogant prick. But he was strong and he could handle anything that hit him. Anything but fear. He didn't know fear – there was no room or _time_ for it.

This boy from the Abbey knew fear – knew nothing but fear.

This boy from the Abbey wasn't him.

So now, when Kai saw him in the mirror or reflected in the windows at the dead of night, he turned away. When he began to pound his small, bruised fists on the glass, crying his name, begging to be heard, Kai spun on his heel and left the room. There was nothing he wanted to hear from this boy. Nothing he could learn. He didn't need his fear or his experiences. Eventually, he would disappear the same way he did before, and Kai would be left in peace.

But the echoing tap on the window behind told him otherwise.

'_...Kai?'_

"Go away," Kai muttered, thrusting the bottles and cans roughly into the trash can. He tried to ignore the small voice as thoroughly as he ignored the fading light of day. He did not turn around.

'_Why...?_

Kai strode away from the window and towards the bedroom as the banging grew louder. With his jaw set he ignored the fact that when he passed the bedroom mirror, he saw a flash of the desperate, crimson-eyed plea of that child. From the draws beside his bed he pulled out a clean set of clothes and went into the bathroom. But the child followed him there too, beating his small hands through the glass of the mirror. He was crying.

'_Kai… why don't you look at me?'_

Ignore. Ignore. This wasn't happening.

Twisting the dial of the shower with shaking hands, he waited for the hot water to fill the room with steam. But he could hear the child continue to pound on the glass, regardless of the growing veil of condensation that covered it. It was growing hysterical now.

'_Why? Why don't you see me, Kai? ...Please!'_

"See what?" Kai spat over his shoulder, pulling a fresh towel off the shelf. He removed his shirt and threw it in the laundry basket. "There's nothing to see!"

'_But Kai... I'm right - right here!'_

"Shut up!" Kai threw the bathroom door open and left the room. He went to the fridge, wrenched open the door and pulled out a small, slim-necked bottle. Just one, to take the sting off. Then he'd take a quick shower to wake himself up, leave the apartment and hit the gym.

'_Please, just turn around...'_

"Fuck off," Kai growled through gritted teeth. He didn't even bother looking for the bottle opener. Instead, he brought the bottle down and nicked the edge of the counter with it, forcing the metal cap off that way. Through the child's pounding, his tears and his pleas, Kai missed the sound of it hitting the floor.

'_You're just like them! They didn't see me either!'_

"Just leave me alone."

'_They never wanted me! Not me!'_

Kai brought the bottle to his lips, tipping his head back.

'_They never loved me!'_

"Go away."

'_But you'll never understand!'_

"Good! I don't wanna hear _anything_ you have to say..."

'_Boris just wanted to use me.'_

"Leave me alone!"

'_Grandfather – he hated me!'_

"Stop it!" Kai began to pace the apartment, one hand running through his hair, the other gripping the bottle-neck tight with shaking, white knuckles. Windows, mirrors everywhere, not a safe place in sight. He was surrounded by ghosts he couldn't seem to forget. Everywhere, the sound of that child, screaming, crying, beating his small, bruised hands on the glass. There was nowhere else to go.

'_Even you… you hate me too!'_

"I never asked for you to come here!"

'_You just want me to disappear!'_

"SHUT UP!"

'_Why do you hate me!"_

"I said _SHUT UP_!"

'_Why Kai? Why do you hate me so –?'_

"– BECAUSE YOU'RE _ME!"_

Kai wound his arm back and hurled the bottle towards the glass, away from himself. It fractured against the window-pane before him, spraying its contents in all directions, shattering into a million pieces against the glass, leaving only deafening silence in its wake.

Panting, Kai fell to his knees on the floor.

He looked up to the glass before him, and between the drops of beer trickling down the fractured glass he saw only his own reflection. Exactly as he was. Chalk-white, dark-eyed, panting, shaking, alone, and afraid.

More afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

"… because I'm you."

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**_A/N: _**_There you have it. Who would've thought I could fit so much sunshine onto one chapter? 8D Ahem, joking aside, I had trouble with this, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. As always, if you have the time **drop me a review**, I'd really appreciate anything you guys say – a piece of writing is nothing without its readers! _

_And, as for how a fifteen year old boy manages to procure alcohol in Japan? Well, he's Kai-freaking-Hiwatari. Maybe he bought out the convenience store down the road... All I know is, if that boy wants something, there aren't very many people who'll stop him from getting it. :/  
_

_Until next time!  
_

_~ Indie_


	3. Not Alone

_**Summary:** 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together? _

_**Disclaimer:** __Kai and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. And any Japanese miracle hangover cures mentioned within also do not belong to. You know, I'm starting to wonder if I actually own anything of worth at all. D:  
_

_**A/N:** Hey guys, here's another chapter for you all. Firstly: I've finally wrestled Kai off the bottle (at least, I hope I have) so this is the last we'll be seeing of him in such a state. Secondly: Don't sweat about the maid, she's really no one important, she's just, well, the maid.  
And DUDE, just realized I haven't gone through the customary thanking of reviews. So I'd like to give a **DOUBLE thanks** to everyone who's spared the time to review chapters one and two, namely: **rae38kai**, **Sprintingfever**, **country-grl20**, **AnimeKiwi369**, **Desastrus**, **some stuff**, **Scarlette Shizuru** and **neelheer**. You guys are awesome! :D  
_

* * *

**Not Alone.**

Kai felt the cool, hard surface of the kitchen floor against his cheek. Someone's hands were grasping around his shoulder, trying to turn him over and pull him up into a sitting position against the kitchen counters. He wished they wouldn't – the world hadn't started spinning until they did.

...Whoever it was, they were small – Kai found this out when he made to push them away, but ended up grabbing at their wrists for support instead.

"Hiw – Hiwatari-sama...?"

The voice only just penetrated the very edges of his awareness. Kai endeavored to lift his eyelids at the sound, but the sudden onslaught of light shot splinters through his brain and he closed his eyes again as the world flipped upside-down. There was one thing that his mind had managed to register, however.

Mousey brown hair.

...The maid? She was only due to clean up the apartment once a week, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was Thursday yet. He tried briefly to remember what day it was, but gave up. It was a thoroughly fruitless effort when he couldn't even pinpoint the location of gravity from one second to the next.

He tried opening his eyes again and squinted hard. The face of a girl swam into view. Yes, it was her – only memorable for being a girl as mousey as her hair. He could just make out her large, dark eyes, and her eyebrows lifted just-so in an expression of deepest anxiety.

Kai wasn't sure what was harder to stomach – the relentless way in which the world continued to lurch around him, or the shame he felt at allowing himself be seen in such a state. Regardless, a couple of labored breaths later and it was clear that his poisoned insides had no intention of stomaching _anything_.

He still hadn't let go of the girl's wrists, so he pulled her a little closer instead. Clearly, he wasn't going to be able to stand alone.

"… Bathroom," he managed to croak out hoarsely.

"Huh? Oh! – Okay, umm…" She eased one of her wrists free and hesitantly placed a hand under his elbow, inexpertly trying to lift him to his feet. She wasn't so much helping him stand as she was supporting his entire weight, and Kai was vaguely impressed that she was still on her feet at all. But the world gave an even larger lurch beneath his feet now that he was upright, and, with his head resting pathetically against the maid's shoulder, he gulped. He wasn't going to make it to the bathroom.

Fortunately, the girl had sense enough to realize this and settled for steering him towards the kitchen sink – just a blessed three steps away.

Insides burning, eyes stinging, head pounding, Kai bent forward over the sink and braced himself for the bitter assault that, by now, he ought to have been a little more used to. But damn, it was still as bad as ever – worse, even. It seemed that those few painkillers had exaggerated, rather than lessened, the effects of the alcohol. Kai made a definite mental note to never mix his drinking with the painkillers again. It just wasn't worth it. Of course, he'd had no intention of mixing them to begin with, but last night was… different. It, too, was worse.

In the midst of his barely restrained vomiting, Kai had almost forgotten about the maid. To her credit – she didn't hover. Nor did she try and make some sort of vain, tiresome, and not to mention unwanted, effort to help – like rubbing circles on his back or something useless and entirely out-of-her-place like that. Instead, she just stepped back and left him to it, and for that he _was_ grateful.

He heard her scuttle off somewhere in the direction of the bedrooms, and only realized then that he'd had a faint buzzing in his ears because it stopped. It must have been the shower. Had he left it running – all night? Kai tried to count the hours he'd been out cold for, but the next wave of nausea promptly cut that effort short.

Some minutes later, Kai believed he was through the worst of it. His head was still pounding, and his body still aching, but it seemed his stomach and liver had stopped trying to sever themselves from his body, for now, and had settled for a mild churning instead. He'd have to remember to treat them a little kinder in future. Fumbling through the cupboards for a clean glass, Kai poured himself some cold water from the tap and, leaning against the kitchen counters against the still slightly spinning world, made his way towards the table and sat down.

Cradling the cool glass between his hands, he tried to gather everything he could remember of last night.

It was all shrouded in such a haze, it was hard to define one image from another. But he remembered the last thing he saw. After countless more bottles, pathetically tossed back and thrown around, the boy had returned to him through the cracks in the broken glass. In his last few moments of consciousness, Kai hadn't really been sure if he was seeing him at all. But he'd heard him.

'_You're all alone…'_

That's what he'd said. It wasn't gloating, or mocking. It wasn't sorry, either. It was simply stated. Stated softly as the moonbeams that filtered down through the fractured window and dusted through his hair. Yet it was the sharpest thing he'd ever heard.

Kai had smirked wryly at his miniature reflection at that. "Just like always then."

The other Kai tipped his head to the side, his messy bangs shifting to reveal puzzled eyes.

'_No… not always.'_

Kai was sure he was barely conscious at this point. The scene had become gauzy, purple tinted. But the words must have registered all the same; they rose now, swimming to the surface – shimmering, almost, against the violet wisps of memory.

'_I wasn't alone. Not alone.'_

Not alone.

The phrase echoed on the periphery, dancing just out of reach, teasing him with a promise of something… more.

And then it was gone, and replaced by that other thing. The thing that had been flitting in and out of his dreams each night, but which only made sense now. That flash of –

"Hiwitari-sama?"

Kai jerked back into the present moment and blinked around, once again the sudden brightness of the room taking him by surprise. What was it _now_? He rubbed his eyes tiredly for a second before casting his glance over to the maid again. She was standing a few feet away from the table, shifting hesitantly from foot-to-foot, fixing her gaze on anything but him. He wondered vaguely how she'd even managed to muster up the courage to address him at all.

"Yes?" When all she did was open her mouth to speak, but then close it again and continue to look around the room, he sighed. Was he really _that_ intimidating – in his current state? "Look, if it's about the … the mess, I can –"

"No! No no," she squeaked, shaking her head and her hands, "it's umm, it's just I –" she took a deep breath and said, all at once, "if you want, Hiwitari-sama, I could go to the pharmacy and get something for your – for your, _...futsukayoi._"She ended sheepishly, tip-toeing around the word.

Futsukayoi. The Japanese expression for hangover was...unique. It basically meant _'_drunk for two days'.Of course, the level of hangover could be exaggerated by saying _mikkayoi_ (drunk for three days), or _yokkayoi_ (drunk for four days), and so on. And this was something he'd always found slightly amusing. Today, Kai decided, he was feeling distinctly _mikkayoi_ at the least.

Kai glanced back up at the maid and realized that, in the time he'd spent not answering her question, she'd probably convinced herself that she'd crossed some sort of line. His well-being wasn't part of her job description, after all. She was clearly terrified of him, and looked as though she was praying for the floor to open up and swallow her. Kai wished it would, he was almost beginning to feel sorry for the poor girl. But, since the floor wasn't putting the maid out of her misery, Kai decided he'd have to do it himself. Besides, his head still felt like it was about to implode on itself and, having written off another dose of painkillers already, he wasn't about to refuse an alternative source of relief.

"Yes. Yes, I would... uhm," he drummed his fingers on the table, trying to kick his slow mind back into its regular cool and detached state. "I'd appreciate that."

In an instant she had bowed, scurried out of the kitchen and left the apartment. It was a few moments before Kai realised he hadn't even given her any money. And a few moments more before he realised that he didn't even know her name. He supposed he'd have to put some extra in her paycheck this week. And then perhaps thank her. After all, she had no obligation to be concerned for him. Yes, that's what he'd do. He'd learn her name, thank her properly, and then put this whole embarrassing episode behind him.

Now that he was alone again, Kai cast his mind back once more. He only wished his mind wasn't so sluggish this morning.

The memories that came to him at night and in his dreams were always to chaotic, so disordered, he hadn't known what to do with them. A jumbled mix of sounds and sights, of smells that clung to him even after he'd been propelled back into the conscious world. Every night, split-second impressions of pain and fear and unwanted feelings were heaped upon him. They simply made no sense to him – or at least, no sense that Kai felt he couldn't live without, at any rate.

But there was that one thing that was always there – he saw it in the spaces between the memories, the only constant he could ever rely on.

A flash of blue.

Sharp; but undeniably and undoubtedly _there._

Kai saw it in his memories, in the eyes of a boy not much bigger than himself. A boy who commanded the respect of all the other children in the Abbey. A boy who'd practiced everything to the point of perfection, who would win matches before they'd even began. A boy who'd seen the depths of fear and rose above it.

But he was more than that.

Kai remembered him now as the boy who sat beside him in the mess hall, who'd pulled faces at the nasty meals they were given, trying to scheme up ways for them to be upgraded to the older boys' high-protein diets. The boy who stood beside him during the launching drills and who had his back during combat trials. The boy who wasn't above sneaking out at night to steal food from the kitchens. The boy who wasn't afraid to kick a guard in the shins after he'd lashed out at Kai, taking a beating himself to try and lessen the other's.

Kai remembered him when he'd first joined the Abbey. He was dragged there, tiny, scruffy, scared out of his wits – but he'd still put up a fight, even knocked out the tooth of one of the guards with his flailing feet. They were cellmates, Kai remembered, and hardly ever apart.

More than that, they were… friends.

But something had happened. Something that changed them both. Something that made Kai forget everything he ever knew. Something that changed that boy with the blue eyes into the cold, emotionless, bitter person he'd seen in Moscow less than two months ago. The one who couldn't even stand to be in the same room as Kai for more than two seconds.

But Kai's mind just drew blanks. No matter how hard he tried to remember, there was just… nothing.

As of now, he could remember _some_ of his time at the Abbey up until he was about twelve or so. And then he could remember his grandfather confining him to the mansion, hiring private tutors to teach him everything he could possibly need to know about business, from number crunching and manipulating deals to how he should dress, act, speak, and walk into a room.

But for the time in between there was… nothing.

Kai had forgotten.

Tala hadn't.

Just then, Kai heard the door to his apartment open and, not too long after, the maid hurried in with a small paper bag tucked under one arm and what looked (and smelled, Kai noted) like a take-out carton of –

"Miso soup," she squeaked, almost as if she was afraid she'd be stepped on if she didn't explain herself quick enough, "from the café down the street." She pulled out a bowl from one of the cupboards and tipped the steaming contents out, before carefully placing it in the middle of the table. "My auntie swears by it… but the man behind the counter recommended this." He just nodded, and she placed the small paper bag next to the soup, then bowed and scurried off again. A few seconds later, he heard a faint tinkling and, glancing over his shoulder, saw her begin to clear up the broken glass.

Turning back to the table, he peered curiously inside the paper bag and found a tiny, dark glassed bottle. She'd gotten him a genki drink. They were various 100ml potions said to relieve all kinds of different complaints from colds, fatigue and, of course, hangover. Kai hadn't had much luck with them so far, but he hadn't seen this particular bottle before so he thought he may as well give it a go. After necking the bottle down in one go, he pushed it to the side and decided to make a start on the soup since it was there.

Kai was loath to ask for help, but he couldn't carry on pretending anymore. These memories… they were coming to him whether he liked it or not. That boy in the mirror, it was who he used to be – he couldn't keep running from that.

Hell, Kai had never ran from anything in his life.

He knew he was grasping at straws but… the Demolition Boys used to know him. If he talked to them, there was a chance things might grow a little clearer. He was sure Tala wouldn't give him the time of day, though.

"Ah, _itai!" _

Kai glanced over in time to see the girl whip her finger in the air. Did she just cut herself? Kai sighed. Wonderful, now he had a twinge of guilt to add to his humiliation and his headache. The headache which was, strangely… not quite there anymore. Kai blinked. He shook his head quickly from side to side. No throbbing. And his body was no longer aching either. He was feeling positively… perky.

His crimson eyes flashed over the the small bottle and he snatched it up. _Lipovitan D_. He had absolutely no idea what was in it, but he committed the name to memory, just in case.

"There's a first aid box under the sink," Kai called over his shoulder. When looking over, he saw that she was still exactly where she was before. Apparently she was the kind of girl who would do absolutely nothing for herself. How tiresome. He stood up and, marveling on the inside about the way the world didn't spin, turned around to face her. "You have a name?"

"Y – Yoko." Finally. Looked like mean was the way to go.

"Right. Yoko. Honestly, I'd rather not have you bleeding all over my floor, if it's all the same to you."

She blinked like she'd just been shot. "Oh, of course! I – I'm sorry, Hiwatari-sama. I'll…" she dropped the pan and rushed over to the cupboard beneath the sink, eyes trained on the ground the entire time.

"Just 'Kai' will be fine."

She paused in the middle of running her hand beneath the tap. "Umm, okay… Kai-sama –"

"– And '-san' only, if you must."

She just nodded and turned away. Looked like she'd reached her limit of bravery for the day.

"Yoko?" Her dark eyes darted apprehensively back to him. He waved the tiny bottle in his hand. "Thank-you."

"Not... not at all, Hiw – er, Kai-san."

Finally. The thanks were over and Kai could focus his mind on more pressing matters. With a nod and the smallest of smiles (which he hoped would be enough to convince the poor girl that he wasn't actually an ogre) Kai turned on his heel and made his way towards the office.

If he was going to try, however hopeless it might be, to contact Tala, then the first person he'd need to call was Dickenson. Kai had heard that he was the man in charge of re-housing all the Abbey boys, so logically, Dickenson was his best bet at finding him.

Walking past the large windows in the office, he couldn't help but notice that he saw only his own image reflected in the glass – a little worse for wear, perhaps, but definitely _him_ – and he spared a moment to enjoy the feeling of calm he felt at the sight. It was the best he'd felt in weeks.

But then again, Kai thought, it was probably just the crazy little genki drink talking.

* * *

_**A/N: **Well I don't know about you guys, but after doing my research on Japanese hangover cures I think I really like the sound of those genki drinks. They're like tiny little energy drinks apparently, but taken Up To Eleven.  
Also, I am so, so happy I finally get to end a chapter in a non-depressing way! :D I'll have to shove those genki drinks down Kai's throat more often. Perky. HA. x3_

_Anyhow, don't be shy! I ADORE reviews – I find they actually spur me on to write faster *hint hint LOL* ;D  
_

_Until next time!  
_

_~ Indie  
_


	4. Stone

_**Summary:** 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together? _

_**Disclaimer: **Tala, Kai, and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. Russia most certainly does not belong to me. But Tala's psychiatrist and his mom, they do. ;D *shot* _

**_A/N: _**_As always, my wonderful reviewers: **Sprintingfever**, **some stuff**, **Kiray Himawari**, **Desastrus**, **Kavbj**, **Scarlette Shizuru**, **country-grl20**, and **rae38kai**. I love you guys so much. T_T__**  
**_

_As for a note on the chapter: I fancied a change in scenery. Welcome to Russia, people.  
_

* * *

**Stone.**

"… Tala?"

"Hm?" he responded, his sharp blue eyes flashing up to meet her dark brown ones.

"What are you thinking?"

"That I still can't believe you haven't changed this fucking carpet," he said disinterestedly. Even as he spoke, his eyes flickered down to it. It was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen – mottled brown and olive green woven into an elaborately disgusting floral pattern. The only thing she had in her defense was that she wasn't actually the one who'd chosen it.

She laughed. A woman's laugh was a strange sound that he hadn't grown accustomed to yet. Too soft and tinkling, and filled with colour. "I couldn't possibly change the carpet, Tala. I sometimes fear you'd have nothing left to talk to me about if I did."

Tala cracked a small, wry smirk at that. Indeed, he may very well have nothing left to talk to her about – since he refused to talk about anything else. He shifted around on the pleated velvet couch he was sat on and leant lazily over the arm, propping his head up on his hand.

Dr. Galina Donkova. That was the name of his counselor. At least that's what they called her, but Tala wasn't stupid. She was his _shrink_. A psychiatrist hired to analyse and note down the effects of his time at the Abbey and provide him with some kind of talking-therapy. Pills too, if she thought he needed them, but she hadn't prescribed any yet. Even so, every Tuesday and Friday afternoon he was scheduled here to have an hour-long heart-to-heart session about his issues.

One month later, and they hadn't moved past his issue with the carpet.

Still, he hadn't bet that Donkova would be as stubborn as he was. She never rose to any of his sarcastic remarks, often returned as good as she got, and always tried to steer the conversation away from the carpet and towards himself. A valiant effort, one that Tala never rewarded with anything beyond a little dry banter at best.

"Are you hungry?"

Tala's brow furrowed. "No."

"Tired?"

He raised an eyebrow. "...It's four-thirty."

"But I suppose you _feel_ them, though. Fatigue, and hunger?"

Tala snorted wryly. Ah, he could see where this was going now. "I suppose I do."

"I suppose you do," she echoed. There was silence for a few moments during which Donkova surveyed him as he played idly with a loose thread in the arm of he couch. "I'm aware we've been over this before, but… it really _is_ alright to feel, you know."

Tala rolled his eyes.

"Sometimes, we'll try to hide our feelings because they're ugly, or difficult, or we don't quite know what to do with them. Anger, bitterness, fear –"

"– I'm not afraid," Tala snapped, on impulse.

"...Of me?" she probed. Before Tala even realised what was happening, he was playing along. Talking. Again.

"Yes, of you. Of anyone. Fear just isn't a word that's in my vocabulary."

"Why?"

"… _Why?"_

"Yes, why?" she said.

"Well, because – and, this _isn't_ a threat, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't press that little button like last time – but, because I could snap you. Quite easily," he said plainly. "I could break you and everyone else in this building and before anyone on the outside even knew what happened. I could be out of this country before the police units had even figured out that it was me. I could wipe myself off the map entirely and neither Tala Valkov or this..._ Yuriy Ivanov_, would ever been seen or heard from again."

The dark eyed blonde just stared at him passively from her position on her seat. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked quite relaxed. "Oh, I don't doubt that for a second, Tala," she said. And he could see it in her eyes that she was telling the truth. But then she leant forward, placed her elbows on her knees and fixed him with a mildly searching look. Almost as though, if she looked hard enough, she thought she might be able to stare right through the defenses he'd built around himself. "So what's stopping you?"

Tala's cold, impassive look split in half as he broke into a laugh to fill the silence. But it was all wrong. Hollow and razor-edged, and completely devoid of colour.

Running a hand lazily through his hair, Tala pushed himself up off the couch and made for the door. "I'm leaving now," he said over his shoulder. His hour wasn't nearly up yet, but he'd never once stayed the full amount of time anyway.

When he looked around, he saw that Dr. Donkova had settled back in her chair and was smiling at him pleasantly, as she always did when he decided it was time to leave. "See you on Tuesday, then."

**–––––––––––––**

Shrugging the collar of his thick winter jacket closer around his jaw, Tala stepped off the metro and began to weave his way through the throngs of people milling around the underground. He hated the public transport system in Moscow. There were always too many people crammed in to too small a place, while even more people from behind tried to squeeze in as well. It was utter stupidity, and there was simply no order or reason to any of it.

But since the alternative was to be constantly watched – babysat, even, – on his way to and from the therapy sessions, this pointless, chaotic crowd was something he was willing to endure. Because in this grey jacket, walking through this grey crowd in a grey city, he was at least afforded some level of invisibility. His vivid red hair, no longer held up in his once trademark style, yet still unusual enough to gather some attention, hung loose around his jaw now and began to sway about in the sharp November air as he stepped out of the station and into the street.

This damned hair, coupled with his penetrating blue eyes, was enough for the occasional passer-by to identify him as the old captain of the Demolition Boys, Russia's national Beyblade team. Tala Valkov. Once a hero, now just tragic little Yuriy Ivanov, a victim of the Abbey; confused, abused, disturbed, unhinged. A gasp of breath, the reflexive step back – there was no ignoring this when he was recognised on the street. He'd play it up occasionally, with a sharp glare and a threatening step forward. At first, he'd gotten a kick out of the flash of fear that sparked in people's eyes when he did. But it quickly grew tiresome.

Even worse was the pity, though. There was no hiding that in the eyes of those who recognised him. And eyes never lied.

He wondered, vaguely, what these people on the street saw in _his_ eyes.

A manic perhaps, so disturbed by his time in the institute that he was likely to snap at a moment's notice. A liability. A threat. The boys at the Abbey received far too much military training at far too young an age. Hardened through hardship. He had blood on his hands. He was dangerous.

But then, no.

Perhaps they saw a child in his eyes. One who was snatched off the streets years ago when he was little more than a toddler. Brainwashed. Put through torturous training. Put through hell. Scarred. Alienated. Alone.

Donkova saw a _case_, of that much he was sure. Something to be prodded and probed and figured out, before being set to the side, put in a box and neatly labelled.

These eyes of his attracted too much attention. Tala lowered them to the snow-dusted grey streets of Moscow and felt himself disappear. He'd be home in less than fifteen minutes if he took the tram. But he decided he'd rather walk. Just another person in another crowd.

All of these people had places to go, people to see. He imagined they had goals, aspirations, dreams. Good grades in school. A promotion. A family.

Tala never had any goals. Or at least, not any goals in the regular sense. His goal was to survive another day. His aspiration was to become strong enough to fight tomorrow. And his dream? He didn't have one of those. No one at the Abbey did.

Sure, they'd all thought about what they'd to do when the time came for them to leave the Abbey. At nineteen – if you'd survived to that age, that is – you were too old to make the cut for the first team, too old to compete in any Championships.

Most of the boys went on to become the Abbey's guards. They'd keep order inside the walls and continue to replace the ever dwindling numbers. Others would join the team of scientists, discover new ways to push the limits of the body and develop ever stronger beyblades, more powerful bit-beasts. The most elite students were sold to the army and would become spies, assassins, weapon specialists, tacticians of fearsome potential.

Tala guessed that the army's involvement was what had kept the Abbey standing for so long. The world was corrupt and their country had too much to gain from it. A constant trickle of already-trained, elite soldiers who would do anything and question nothing.

And for the children who'd spent their entire lives fighting, it was the most desirable path. One that led out of the Abbey, but not outside of what they knew.

This was what Tala had aimed for.

But he'd fallen short.

And now, he just didn't know what to do with himself.

"Hey, kid!"

Tala blinked up, and in the split second that the beeping of a horn assaulted his ears he saw the flash of a truck's headlights before him. Adrenaline took hold, and with reflexes that only a boy raised in the Abbey could possess he crouched down, pushed himself off the road he didn't remember stepping out into and half-jumped, half-stumbled back onto the sidewalk. A half-second later and a hand had grabbed him around the elbow, trying to pull him upright.

"Shit, kid! What are you, crazy? Look where you're –" the man's voice hitched in his throat mid-sentence as he recognized just who it was he was shaking by the elbow. He gasped. Fear this time around, Tala noted. "You – you're that –"

"– 'your fucking hands off me," Tala spat, shooting splinters through the man with his ice-cold glare. He wrenched his arm free and shoved the man roughly away by the shoulder. He stumbled backwards, and Tala turned on his heel and barged his way past the small crowd that had begun to gather, hitching up the collar of his jacket once more.

**–––––––––––––**

Kicking his feet against the wall, Tala freed his boots of the snow before stepping over the threshold and closing the front door behind him with a small click. He went through the motions of kicking off his boots and shrugging his jacket off his shoulders to hang up on the hook.

"Andrei, is that you?"

"No. It's me."

"Oh, Yuriy!" Tala suppressed a winced at the sound of that name and made towards the stairs. His hand had just grabbed hold of the railing when a woman appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "Tala," she said softly, correcting herself. A conscious effort, he noted. But he supposed old habits were hard to break. "You're back early."

"So I am," he replied. He let his hand fall off the railing and turned to face her, leaning back against the wall.

Red hair pulled into a loose braid over her shoulder, and warm, soft, grey eyes. His mother. The woman who claimed to be, at any rate – and he had no memory of her or any other woman to prove otherwise. She was quite lovely in both dictionary definitions of the word, and generous and kind to boot. There was really nothing about her that was dislikable.

And yet Tala found himself disliking her all the same. Or at least, disliking the way she made him feel.

He watched as she placed a warm smile on her face and asked, "So, how did it go?"

"...Fine."

"Did you –"

"– We spoke about my feelings again," he said indifferently, quickly tiring of the same conversation they had each and every time he returned from one of his sessions. "She said it's alright to have them, whatever they are."

She nodded encouragingly, "she's right. It's all fine."

"I know. So I guess it's also fine to say that I don't really _feel_ like talking to you right now."

She glanced to the side and looked down to the floor, but Tala's keen eyes didn't miss the expression of hurt she tried to mask. And there it was again – that twinge of guilt he didn't understand and had no idea what the fuck to do with.

He wasn't sure what exactly she expected from him, or how to deliver it. She'd said he was her son, that there wasn't anything she expected. But _that_ was expectation enough. He wasn't her son. He had no memory of ever being her son, and no knowledge of how to be one now. So all he was left with was this gnawing feeling of falling short, all over again. He'd never been bad at anything in his life. Now it seemed he was doing everything wrong.

He didn't need this.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tala tried again. "Sorry," he said woodenly. He scanned his brain for all the responses or excuses a person might make when they just didn't want any company. "It's just… it's been a long day."

She glanced back up at him with the smallest of smiles on her face and nodded, fumbling with the edge of her little plaid apron. She understood. She always understood. Tala wondered how she managed it. He wasn't understanding much of anything lately.

"I'm preparing beef zharkoye for dinner," she said, gesturing into the kitchen behind.

Tala nodded. "Right. Smells good." And it did.

She lit up at that. Smiling a little brighter, she said, "I'll call you down when it's ready, then."

Tala nodded again and, just as the phone in the hall began to ring, he turned and began to mount the stairs. His mother went to answer. But as soon as he reached the landing, he was being called back down again.

"Yuriy?"

Tala rolled his eyes from the safety of a position where she couldn't see. He'd tabooed the name, but she just _kept_ _forgetting_. "Yes?" he asked irritatedly, leaning down over the railing.

"It's for you," she called softly.

"Who is it?"

There was a moment where she spoke into the phone again, asking the caller for their name again. Then she looked up at him again, and Tala wondered vaguely why the look in her eyes made him feel uneasy.

"Someone who used to know you," she said. "He said his name's Kai Hiwatari."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Let's talk about cliffhangers. They're cool little thing's aren't they? I've always wanted to do one of those. AM I DOING IT RIGHT? 8D  
__Aha, anyway. For those of you who are readers of my other fic, **The Spaces in Between**, you'll already be familiar with Tala and the Demo Boy's domestic lives as I imagine them. So, the Tala that struggled to adjust to home life, the Kai who hadn't spoken to the Bladebreakers since the tournament was over – this is them. This is them in the middle of their struggle. GOD I love writing angst. XD  
As always, reviews are much appreciated (and guaranteed to send me on an ego trip, you have been warned), and guest reviews are enabled and more than welcome too! Until next time! :)  
_

_~ Indie  
_


	5. Cold

_**Summary:** 'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together?_

_**Disclaimer: **Tala, Kai, Bryan and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. Russia most certainly does not belong to me. _

_**A/N: **I'd like to thank the reviewers of the last chapter; **Rangerapprentice**, **Sprintingfever**, **Desastrus**, **Guest**, **rae38kai**, **OneRiddle**, **Ugawa** and **ala mode**. Your kind words are all really encouraging and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far – hope the next one is up to spec for you all. :)  
_

* * *

**Cold.**

Tala blinked and shook his head; an attempt to clear the faint ringing sound that filled his head at the sound of that name. It was like the sound a glass made when you tapped a spoon against it. He was never fond of the sound. Sharp, crisp and altogether too uncomfortable because it lingered in their air for just a second longer than it should.

"Kai...?" he repeated.

His mother nodded. Her grey eyes creased – a little confused by his delayed reaction, he guessed. "Yes," she said, "asking for you. For... Tala Valkov," she said, her mouth hesitantly forming the words like it was a foreign language. He supposed he couldn't really blame her. Yuriy Ivanov was the name of the child she lost. When he returned to her over ten years later, insisting that his name was Tala Valkov and refusing to be acknowledged as anything else, it must have been… Tala couldn't quite think of what it must have been.

Difficult to swallow, perhaps?

"...If you'd rather not speak to him, I can tell him he's got the wrong –"

"– No. I'll take it," he replied cooly, beginning to descend the stairs and holding his hand out for the phone. She handed it over to him and retreated into the kitchen again, seemingly understanding that this was something he wanted to do alone.

Tala held the phone in his hand and stared down at it searchingly for a moment, not entirely sure if he wanted to speak to the person on the other end of the line. He didn't really feel like speaking to anyone recently. Not his mother or his father. Not cool, calm Dr Donkova with that knowing little smile of hers that, no matter what he said, he was never able to wipe off her face. Not even Bryan who'd called last week – Bryan, the young man who, for years now, Tala knew he could share anything with.

He sure as hell didn't want to speak to Kai – Kai who, apparently, thought he had every right to just stroll in and out of his life as he pleased.

Slowly, Tala stooped down to sit on the bottom-most step and leant against the railing with his back turned to the kitchen. Cursing the short reach of their corded telephone, he paused and listened for the sounds of clinking dishes in the kitchen, making sure his privacy was not compromised. It wasn't.

After a few more moments spent staring searchingly at the phone, he lifted it to his ear, half hoping that the person on the other end had given up waiting and hung up already.

"...Kai?" he said, whispered almost. He kicked himself internally for how vulnerable that must have sounded. Fuck Kai, catching him off-guard like this.

– _Tala. –_

Tala felt his free hand curl up into a fist. Kai had used _that_ tone. The exact same tone he'd used when he returned to the Abbey in Moscow just before the Championships. A tone of recognition, but not remembrance. Of acknowledgement, but not understanding. It was empty. There was nothing in it.

Nothing but the four letters that made up the name.

"What?" Tala asked icily, taking great care to ensure that the final 't' sound was short and sharp and nipped in the bud.

There was once a time, years ago now, when he wouldn't even have dreamed about using this tone of voice with Kai. It was one he'd learnt to adopt for those outside of his regard, those he preferred to shut out. Like the older boys of the Abbey, to prove that he would not be intimidated. Or the younger recruits who Tala knew were likely to disappear eventually. There was no point in trying to form bonds with those that were fated to die, after all. His parents, too. Tala shut _them_ out because he was sure that, when they looked at him, they didn't see the person he was now. They saw a sorry shadow of the boy he might have been, had he not been tainted by the Abbey.

But this tone, it was not meant for Kai. Never Kai.

Tala cast his mind back as far as it would go and Kai was there. The first person to stand before him, beside him, behind him. The first person Tala could remember ever letting in. The first person that Tala had learnt to rely on, and place his trust in.

Incidentally, he was also the first person to leave.

Tala held his breath, waiting. There was nothing but silence on the other side of the line; Kai was wasting his time. He'd just about made up his mind to hang up when the other person finally spoke.

– _...Look, Tala. I… –_

He hesitated. Probably that foolish pride of his getting in the way, as usual. Well, Tala didn't have the patience to tolerate it today. "Spit it out. I don't have all day."

An intake of breath. Kai tried again.

– _Fine. Tala, I keep… –_

Tala heard Kai sigh in frustration and swear under his breath. But when he drew his next breath, the redhead could have sworn he heard the resolve in it. Kai's next words were slow and deliberate; almost as if he was finally confessing the fact to himself as well as to Tala.

– _Right. I… am regaining my memories of the Abbey. Every day. And it, it's too much for me to, to… so, I need - fuck, this is so stupid, why can't I just… Tala. I need your help. –_

Kai... remembered?

Even as he spoke, Tala felt his barriers slipping, felt himself begin to thaw out. Those old ties of friendship he'd cast aside a life-time ago were tugging at him again, once more pulling him towards this boy who never, in all the years he'd known him, had never before asked for his help. Who'd never before sounded so… pitiful. So… so utterly unlike himself.

Despite the alarm bells that this fact set off ringing in his head, Tala wasn't able keep a trace of softness out of his voice as he breathed his next question down the phone. Before anything, Tala needed to be sure that he remembered. "...Where have you been, Kai?"

– _...what? –_

Tala closed his eyes tiredly and leant his head back against the railing.

He would never fail to help Kai with anything. But then, Kai would never ask for help. It was a strange, silent understanding they'd shared. Help, if it was needed, was always given before it was asked for, and afterwards their thanks would always go unspoken. That's just the way it was – they were proud, arrogant, vain, and strong. But Kai was stronger.

At least, that's how Tala remembered him.

Kai was the first to stand; Tala was quick to follow and emulate, then strive to outdo. United in competition, their rivalry tied them together and pushed them to achieve greater heights. For years, they were Balkov's golden pair... until a certain grey-eyed bird of prey entered the walls and shook things up with his sheer power and brute strength. Spencer and Ian had been there longer, but Bryan... Bryan was unforgiving – ruthless, even by the Abbey's standards. He made no apologies, took no prisoners – he was the perfect soldier and Kai quickly understood that he'd make a much better ally than an enemy. And he was right. Bryan had that rare streak of uncompromising loyalty that meant he would follow you to the grave, if he had to.

Kai understood a lot of things.

Kai should have understood that question.

Tala repeated it, but with a trace of ice now seeping into his voice. A coded question with a scripted answer – a private joke, if you will. It was entirely meaningless, of course. But at the same time, it meant everything. One more chance. If Kai didn't remember this, he didn't remember anything.

"I said, where have you been?"

– _Where have I…? I don't, Tala? –_

That was all it took. Kai didn't remember. Tala felt himself shut down again.

Deep blue eyes sharpened to ice, then narrowed. Catching his breath, he had to tell himself that whatever it was that just shot through his chest and punctured his lungs, it wasn't hurt. He was just pissed off. Yeah, majorly pissed off… Tala could work with that. He would not succumb to the feeling of being forgotten a second time.

His thick, icy barriers were now firmly back in place. Immovable, impenetrable. He wondered vaguely why the familiar chill brought him no comfort – but quickly dismissed the feeling.

"Fuck off, Hiwatari. I have nothing to say to you."

The hand that held the phone to his ear slid down slowly and, as it came to rest in his lap, Tala hit the disconnect button. The silence that followed seemed… Tala smirked bitterly. He didn't know what the hell it seemed like – it was just different. He decided he didn't like it.

Standing up, Tala deposited the phone back into its cradle on the wall and spared a moment to survey his hands. The hands which had never once betrayed him by shaking, and still did not shake now. Unshakable. Unreachable. The person who was once his best friend was reaching out to him and Tala shot him down, not caring for anything but the grudge he'd been holding onto like it was a lifeline. Looks like Boris had squeezed the heart out of him after all.

"Tala…?" His cool eyes snapped up to meet his mother's. He wasn't sure what emotion was swirling in his eyes, but it was enough for her to take the smallest of steps back. "...Are you okay?"

Tala chewed his lip for a moment, pondering the word. Okay. Everyone seemed to be asking him that, lately. What the hell did it even mean, to be okay? To be physically sound – or mentally? Emotionally? Why did he even care?

He shook his head and gestured back to the phone on the wall. "It wasn't the person I used to know." He surprised even himself by the hard-edge in his voice. But Tala wouldn't lie to himself, because that wasn't Kai. Not really. Not yet.

"Oh," his mother breathed. "I'm sorry," she called to his retreating form up the stairs.

"No, it's... okay." Tala replied. He couldn't suppress the smirk that crept around his lips at his clever little wordplay. Okay.

He was going to have to get to the bottom of that word.

**–––––––––––––**

Kai blinked, stunned.

The phone was still clutched in his hand and the annoying droning tone that told him the line was dead still echoed into his ear. His mind slowly reassessed the facts.

Tala Valkov had just bitched him out and hung up on him.

As soon as that fleeting moment of shock receded, Kai's immediate reaction was indignation. His eyes narrowed and hardened. Kai would not be hung up on by anyone – not even Tala. He had half a mind to just ring the little fucker back up and tell him so. But then he decided it wasn't worth the time.

He'd tried to make contact and was shunted. He would not give Tala the satisfaction of doing that a second time.

Fuming, Kai slammed the slim, black phone down onto the handset and started to pace around the office in his apartment. Every so often, he glared out through the windows and down towards the bright streets of Chiyoda. Noon. He squinted. The sun was too strong and too bold a contrast to the grey place his mind was currently in.

_Where have you been, Kai?_

Kai ran a frustrated hand through his hair and had the vague feeling that if he did that any more today, it would be sure to stick that way. Groaning, he flopped down into the black leather chair before the desk and sighed tiredly.

_I said, where have you been?_

Kai placed his elbows on the desk before him and held his head in his hands as Tala's words echoed around and around in his head. There was something more to the phrase than the words that made it, he was sure.

It meant something.

But he had no idea what that something might be.

Closing his eyes, he tried to pull up some kind of memory or image as the words played around in his head. But all he could see through the purple mist were those sharp, blue eyes and the trace of a wry smirk. That was all he had to work with. Apparently, his mind had no problem relaying all manner of horrible experiences that Kai thought he could do without – but this one, small detail, the _only_ thing he asked for, had to be held back.

It was a fucking joke.

Irritation quickly replacing his lethargy, Kai's eyes snapped open to the computer monitor before him. After angrily tapping random buttons on the keyboard to re-awaken the thing, he opened up his mail-provider and scanned the e-mail Dickenson had sent him with a frown. Along with the old man's predicable wishes for good-health, Kai had gotten two things. A phone number that would take him to Tala, and an e-mail address that would take him to Bryan.

Kai placed two fingers to his left temple in thought.

But then he rolled his eyes at himself and brought his fingers to the keyboard. He would just have to get this over and done with. He'd over-thought the prospect of getting in touch with Tala and look what that got him – nothing but another headache and a loose end. His aim in contacting the Russian was to try and tie up his loose ends, not create more.

Leaning back in his seat, Kai spared a moment to observe what he'd written.

_**From: **Kai Hiwatari**  
Subject: **(no subject)**  
Date: **9 November, 12:07 GMT +9**  
To: **Bryan Kuznetsov  
_

_Kuznetsov,_

_My memories of the Abbey are returning. I have to know if what I'm seeing really happened. A little help?_

_Hiwatari.  
_

Short, no frills, to the point. Before Kai could convince himself not to send the damn thing, he tapped the 'return' button and the message was gone. Just like that.

If only his conversation with Tala had been so easy.

Kai sighed. His anger at the redhead was marred by something else. The sound of betrayal that seeped into the teen's voice before he hung up, probably. Kai had gone to him first because he'd felt sure that they were friends, once. But Tala could be ice through and through when he wanted to be, and Kai guessed he'd just forgotten that.

...He'd forgotten so much.

* * *

_**A/N: **Sincerest apologies if this is riddled with typos, I guess turfing out the last half of a chapter at, like, midnight isn't the best thing for me to do. BUT I just so wanted to get another chapter out there, so here it is.  
_

_I wonder... will Bryan respond to Kai's request? Moreover, will I even be able to resist bringing Bryan into the story? XD Doubtful. Anyway, for those of you hoping for Tala to be supporting to Kai – sorry, you've got a long wait ahead of yourself. Tala's got his own issues and, wouldn't you know, his issue with Kai is one of the biggest ones. It's gonna be a looong road ahead for our boys.  
_

_As always, please tell me your thoughts. I am most worried about this chapter, I feel like I've slipped a little in the character department D: So if anyone seems OOC to you, PLEASE let me know and I will endeavor to make it right. In the morning, ha.  
_

_EDIT: Typos are fixed. Added some extra detail that I thought was missing. Unfortunately, Tala being cold and a dick was not a typo, that has not been fixed. Sorry to disappoint, people. Don't worry, he'll get over it. Much later. xD  
_

_~ Indie  
_


	6. Grey

_**Summary: **__'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together?_

_**Disclaimer: **Kai, Bryan, Tala, Boris and any other Beyblade related themes belong to Takao Aoki, not me. The Abbey and its guards belong to Boris I guess. Grigoriev belongs to me, as does his beyblade and bit-beast, Kulborg. But don't sweat it, we won't be seeing them again anyway, for obvious reasons. Erm, I think that just about covers it.  
_

_**A/N: **Soo, first thing I have to say to you all is thank you. I am blown away by the amounts of reviews I had after the last update, I don't think I've ever had that many. I'm so so glad you're enjoying the story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. So, **Rangerapprentice, country-grl20, Karay Himawari, Desastrus, Springtingfever, Xana Vlec, It's me, akin-'to38, OneRiddle, Guest1 and Guest 2**, thank you for your reviews on the last chapter. And **some stuff**, thanks for your review on Chapter 4, you've got some catching up to do dude hahahaha. xD **  
**_

_Warning for the chapter: some amateur Russian on my part, pretty easy to follow but I'll also gloss it in the A/N below. Enjoy the chapter!  
_

* * *

**Grey.**

"So what's your verdict, Kai? He any good?"

Kai didn't dare turn around to answer the small redhead's nudge in the ribs and his whispered question. "Not sure," he breathed, staring straight ahead, careful to keep his face perfectly neutral. He didn't want to be caught talking. He'd already shouldered one punishment with Tala this week – he didn't want his still-smarting back to endure another.

"Not sure?" Tala scoffed. Kai didn't need to see him to know that he was rolling his eyes. "What the hell were you doing with him yesterday, then? Thought you were told to show him the ropes."

"I was. Shut up," he hissed, stepping on Tala's foot as a guard passed by in the aisle beside them. As soon as he was out of earshot, Kai began speaking again. "What I mean is, he hadn't even launched a beyblade before. He said as much, 'nd he was clueless when I handed him the gear. I thought he'd probably last a week at most. But then within a half-hour he was… well, just watch," he concluded, as the large double doors at the far end of the assembly hall opened and the newcomer in question stepped through them.

The already silent hall grew more tense. Disdainfully ignoring the limp in his step, the boy walked calmly down to the bey-dish in the center of the hall, paying no attention whatsoever to the pale, stony faces of the boys lined up by the walls. His light purple-grey hair was scruffy and untamed, curling out around his ears and the nape of his neck. His pale grey eyes were cold, uncaring. Kai would have said they were full of scorn, but they weren't. They were hard as stone and he couldn't read past them. It was unnerving.

It wasn't like Boris to initiate a new recruit in such a manner. But everybody present knew that he was making an example of this boy. It was his second night and he'd gotten into a fight after curfew. He'd near beaten the kid to death before the guards bothered to intervene. Fighting wasn't permitted within the walls and he'd had seven shades of hell beaten out of him to remind him of that. And now here he was, the very next morning, at a clear physical disadvantage in a sudden-death initiation match. A win would earn him a place in the Abbey, and a loss…

"...Grigoriev," Tala whispered, nodding towards the far end of the hall, disrupting Kai's train of thought. He watched as the tall, pale, white-blonde haired boy approached the dish. His vacant blue eyes revealed nothing. "Hope you didn't grow attached yesterday, Kai. Boris really wants to make an example outta this poor fucker..."

Kai's eyes narrowed. Grigoriev was fast becoming one of the Abbey's elite. He was a third-star student, and too old to be matched up with this kid who couldn't have been any older than Kai himself. Cruel and emotionless, Grigoriev was everything Boris expected of the boys under his care. He was not an opponent to be taken lightly, under any circumstances. It dawned on him that Boris wasn't simply looking to make an example of this pale-haired child. He was looking to be rid of him in the most chillingly unequivocal of ways.

"Ready your 'blades, men."

Kai's eyes flickered up to the overhead booth for just a second and saw Boris standing there behind the glass, gaze narrowed and focussed on the dish with folded arms. The sneering curve of his top lip told Kai that he did not expect this battle to last long.

The guard overseeing the match raised his hand in the air, preparing to start. "Three. Two. One. Begin –"

"– Let it rip!"

Both beyblades hit the dish and crashed into one another, teal blue and ice-white meeting in a fierce collision. The new kid winced slightly on impact, but kept his sharp grey eyes trained on the dish. Grigoriev smirked.

"Kuznetsov, isn't it?" he said. His voice was soft and silky. It reminded Kai of the flat side of a knife – it wouldn't do to be fooled by this and forget that the blade had a sharp edge and deadly point. "Here for only two days and already getting yourself into trouble. There are rules here, Kuznetsov. You'd do well not to forget them."

Kuznetsov didn't rise to the taunts. Didn't even pay them any attention. His eyes were on his blade and he was meeting the Abbey blader's attacks like-for-like. Neither were gaining any ground, but then, Grigoriev hadn't even really started yet. He'd earned himself the nickname of 'white death' among the students of the Abbey. Everyone knew he had plenty left to give this match.

"No answer?" He sent the grey eyed boy a chilling grin, flashing his teeth. "Here, we ought to speak when we're spoken to. Perhaps you're just shy," he sneered. "Guess I'll have to beat your words out of you… Kulborg!" he commanded, throwing his hand out. The white beyblade responded immediately and began a swift barrage of attacks, hitting the teal blade from a number of different directions. It was impossible to anticipate from which angle he would strike next. Like a shark, his movements were as unpredictable as they were deadly. Grigoriev spoke his next words with each blow. "Don't. Forget. You. Are. Nothing!"

Kuznetsov kept his eyes trained on the battle and steeled himself through the hits, weathering them out. But then he cracked a smirk himself and broke his silence thus far. "You're the one who's nothing. Look around you," he said quietly, finally lifting his cold eyes to Grigoriev's blue ones in a flash of defiance that wasn't often seen inside the walls. "You think you're worth any more than they are? You're not. You're worthless and totally replaceable. You're nothing."

Beside him, Kai heard Tala cuss under his breath and begin fidgeting, craning his neck to get a better view. "You didn't mention the stupid little shit had a mouth on him. Grigoriev's gonna tear him up now for sure." Kai couldn't tell whether the redhead was impressed, insulted, or both. Regardless of which, he was getting too excited.

"Tal, shut the fuck up," Kai hissed, kicking him in the shin. His eyes flickered over to the nearest guard who was watching them intently, listening in on their conversation with a half pissed off, half amused smirk.

Gregoriev blanched, his pupils dilating in rage. Then, after a measure, he managed to reign in his composure a little. "You've got a smart mouth on you, you scrawny little fuck. I think I'm gonna enjoy tearing it off. Kulborg, attack! Now!" he cried wildly.

Kai heard the gear inside the white blade kick it up a notch, and in a flash of light the image of a great white shark with red markings rose up out of the blade. It launched forward with staggering speed and hostility. Kai watched the grey eyed boy tense for impact and then, to everyone's astonishment, caused his beyblade to slip to the left at the very last second. He avoided the hit by a fraction of an inch and sent Grigoriev's blade crashing into the side of the dish. A gasp ran throughout the room. No one had anticipated such a display of skill and control from this child.

"Like I said. Worthless. It's _you_ who are nothing. Attack!" Kuznetsov shouted, stretching his hand out towards the battle. The teal beyblade responded and immediately began an uncompromising barrage of attacks against the white blade, tearing and grinding and not letting up an inch. For someone who'd only picked up a blade yesterday, it was nothing short of unbelievable.

Kai regarded the boy for a second. The change in him was incredible. A few seconds ago, he had been stone-still and completely lifeless. Now it seemed he was surging with energy and pouring it into his beyblade, giving it impossible strength. And this raw power… it was rage and malice and pure, unbridled hate. In those few seconds, surrounded by that energy, Kai thought this boy was more menacing than Grigoriev ever had been.

"Finish it!" Kuznetsov cried. And a split second later, he had. The white beyblade lay in pieces, scattered at the bottom of the dish, while the teal one kept up a steady spin in the dead center.

A hush descended in the room and the white-blonde haired boy fell to his knees in utter disbelief. His eyes were all but popping out of his head. "I… I don't… how did you…?"

"I don't believe it..." Tala whispered next to Kai. "How the fuck..?"

"I told you," Kai muttered in a muted reply.

In an act of pure defiance, Kuznetsov lifted his hard eyes to the observation booth and glared right at Boris. Cold grey eyes clashed. The silent tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

But then the boy swayed once. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground in a dead faint, exhausted. As he hit the floor, the teal beyblade lost its momentum and it gradually slowed to a stop.

Boris made eye contact with the guard nearest Kai and Tala, and nodded. "You," the guard spat, grabbing Tala roughly by the scruff of his neck and shoving him forward towards the dish. The redhead tripped slightly, but kept his balance and didn't fall. "You're so interested in the brat, you move him to the infirmary. Now."

"Yes sir," Tala nodded stiffly, and immediately went about doing it.

By the time he and the pale haired boy had left the room, Boris had descended the observation deck. Kai watched with baited breath as he paced leisurely across the hall before coming to a stop immediately before Grigoriev.

"On your feet," he said softly.

The blonde rose slowly to his feet, dread filling those vacant blue eyes. Quicker than the crack of a whip, Boris brought his hand up and backhanded the boy with such vehemence that he was sent staggering to the side, stumbling to the floor once more. The echo of the blow bounced of the walls and ghosted over every student. Grigoriev didn't dare move a muscle to stand again or raise a hand to his cheek rapidly reddening cheek. Everyone in the Abbey knew that such a display of weakness would not go uncorrected. So he stayed there on the floor exactly as he was, eyes trained to the ground, a stream of blood creeping from the corner of his mouth, waiting.

"You have disappointed me, Grigoriev," Boris continued silkily, his voice dangerously soft. He began pacing around the boy threateningly, like a predator poised to strike. "As a _tret'yu zvezdu,_ I had expected more from you. You failed to deliver. You were defeated." Boris stooped down and gripped the blonde's chin between his fingers, twisting his neck around and forcing petrified blue eyes to stare into hard, soulless grey. "I will not tolerate such pathetic weakness in my army." His eyes flashed up to the pair of guards on standby near the doors. Flicking the boy's chin harshly away, Boris stood up, saying, "Remove him."

Grigoriev gasped, and chocked. He reached out a hand, crying, "No… no! Please, no! I'll do anything, please!" With eyes wide with fear, he screamed out and struggled against the guards. No matter how many times Kai had heard it, the desperate cries of those who'd lost and were fated to die never failed to chill him right down to the bone. "Please, I can do better! It won't happen again, I promise! No no no, no please! Please!"

The doors slammed close, but Kai could still hear the boy behind them and, as his eyes clashed ever so briefly with Boris' soulless grey ones, he wasn't sure if the screaming he heard was still in his ears, or just in his head.

**–––––––––––––––––**

Twisting and turning frantically beneath the sheets, Kai's eyes shot open and he sat bolt upright in a flash. His bleary eyed crimson gaze darted about wildly in the dark as he tried to work out where the strangled yelling was coming from. It took him a second to realize that the sound was coming from his own lips._ Oh. Really? ...Shit._

Clamping a hand over his mouth, he tried desperately to calm his rapid, shallow breathing and reorient himself in the darkness.

He was in the master bedroom of his apartment in Chiyoda, Tokyo. The dark satin sheets of his bed were still twisted around his legs. He was at least four and a half thousand miles away from those stone cold walls of the Abbey. But Kai couldn't fight off the chill that had set in his bones, almost as though he really was there just a few seconds ago. His muscles were tensed and straining, and each and every one of his senses were on high alert. As his eyes flashed from one darkened corner of the room to the other, he was absolutely certain that Boris and his cool, grey-eyed stare were hiding somewhere, leering at him, dodging his line of sight. Always behind him. Always a threat.

Kai wrestled his legs out of the sheets and wrenched the thick, heavy curtains open. At once the bright, golden light of day spilled into the room and illuminated every corner of the room. The clock on the wall told him that it was almost one in the afternoon. He was feeling light-headed. Dizzy. His palms were sweaty and he was still breathing too fast.

Collapsing back onto the bed behind him, Kai leant forward, placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and concentrated on his breathing. Inhale. Count to ten. Hold it. Exhale. Do it again. This time, try twelve seconds. Again. Now fifteen.

Gradually, Kai felt his breathing calm and his pulse slow down. His hands had just about stopped shaking, and he couldn't hear the blood pounding in his ears anymore.

That dream… memory – it was the most vivid and realistic one he'd had so far. Besides the split-second impressions and quick flashes of scenes, this was probably the longest one that made any kind of real, coherent, chronological sense.

He was eight, almost nine. Maybe. Tala was with him. And Bryan was there too. He was the new kid, the one who'd fought such an obviously unfairly matched battle. He won. But it wasn't just a victory, it was an annihilation. And that other boy… Grigoriev. Kai was sure he hadn't lived past that day. He couldn't remember ever seeing him again. But there really was no way he should have lost that match. Bryan was far, far outclassed. Grigoriev was a… what was it Boris had called him?

A _tret'yu zvezdu. _A third-star blader. Soldiers in the Abbey were ranked according to the amount of stars they'd earned. He could remember this much, but the details of how they were ranked were lost to him. What he did know, though, was that there were very few boys with a large number of stars to their name. And they were always the oldest.

Gingerly, Kai brought his fingers up to the back of his neck and traced a line down towards his spine. There, he knew he had a set of stars himself. Usually hidden beneath his hair and scarf, but now curiosity caused him to move.

Standing up swiftly, he entered the en-suite bathroom and twisted around in the mirror. He could just about make out the line of stars there, beginning below his hairline and traveling straight down, joining the line of his spine. Small, black interlocking five-point stars. Five of them. That meant he was a _pyatu'yu zvezdu_. A fifth-star soldier.

He began to wonder, vaguely, how many stars the rest of the Demolition Boys had managed to reach. He hoped Tala wasn't too far ahead of him. But then he remembered he was supposed to be pissed off with him and swiftly brushed the redhead out of his thoughts.

Kai wished he could remember what exactly he'd done to merit such a rank. But a strange feeling of cold and dread crept through him at the thought, like ice-water in his veins, chilling him to the core. He quickly dismissed trying to remember. He was sure it wasn't something he wanted to confront so soon.

Sending his sleepy-eyed reflection a distinctly unimpressed look, he ran a half-assed hand through his awful bed-hair before sighing, rolling his eyes and dismissing _that_ for the moment, too.

He traced his steps back into the bedroom, pulling a t-shirt over his bare chest. Then he went through the doors, out into the great room and down towards the kitchen. The gleaming, polished wooden flooring was heated somewhat by the glare of the sun and it helped to dismiss the last of the chills he'd had since waking up.

Kai grabbed a clean bowl from the cupboard, a spoon from the draw, and went about getting himself some cereals. He knew it was a safe bet this time because he ordered some fresh milk to be sent up yesterday and, even though he hated to be reminded of the team he'd been so dutifully ignoring recently (just like the asshole they knew him to be), Kai really wanted something comforting and familiar after being shaken up by that dream this morning. Besides, he _was_ hungry, and these particular cereals were healthy. Made with all the necessary wheats and bran and grains and vitamins and shit that you should have in your diet. Or something. Whatever.

Shrugging, he made his way into the office and jiggled the mouse around a bit with his free hand to wake the computer up. Then he leant back in the big, black leather desk-chair and spooned his cereals about. He'd just lifted a scoop into his mouth when the computer chimed with an e-mail alert. Kai leant forward in his chair with a sleep-confused frown, chewing, to check the message. He blinked.

It was Bryan.

* * *

_**A/N: **Well well guys, what did you think of that? I decided, since this fic is basically a trip down memory lane, we needed a flashback eventually. So here it is! And there will be more. :) Also, did you enjoy the cliffhanger? I'm quite enjoying doing this to you again. 8D_

___Tret'yu zvezdu: (третью звезду) Russian for third star.  
__Pyatu'__yu zvezdu:__ (пятую звезду) Russian for fifth star._  


_____Grigoriev's bitbeast's name Kulborg is derived from the Russain word for shark, Akula (акула). You have no idea how clever I feel for doing this. XDDD  
_

_____Just on the off-chance that there's any Russian speakers reading this – am I (google translate, lol) doing it right? Also, if any of you are wondering, I made up the Abbey's ranking system myself, and this is definitely not the last you'll hear of it. More will be revealed in future chapters. Tarrah for now!  
_

_____~ Indie  
_


	7. Hard

_**Summary: **__'Lifting his eyes up to the mirror before him, he allowed himself to see what he had been avoiding in his reflection for the past few weeks. A child of the Abbey. A child of fear. A child Kai had forgotten existed. Until now.' In the weeks following the World Championships in Moscow and the return of his memory, Kai is left with the impossible task of sorting through what his memories are, and what are only nightmares. Who will help him piece his mind together?_

_**A/N: **I would like to say a massive, huge, big, fat, sloppy thank-you with hugs and kisses and cherries on top for everyone who's supported my writing, stuck around for updates, put up with my terrible procrastinating. You're all amazing. Thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter, **some stuff, Rangerapprentice, One Riddle, Kiray Himawari, guest, akin-'to38, Sprintingfever, Desastrus **and** Zombii Requiem. **Holy shit I love you guys, and I'm such an ass for not replying to your reviews on a regular basis (or at all).  
_

* * *

**Hard.**

Kai dropped the spoon into the bowl and finished chewing his mouthful, frowning, not entirely certain why the sight of Bryan's name on his screen tugged at some knots in his stomach. Suddenly, he wasn't all too eager to read the message, and thought it might have something to do with the fact that the grey eyed Russian was most probably sitting in front of his keyboard at this exact moment too.

The dream was still fresh in Kai's mind – and the determined, hateful look in Bryan's grey eyes not yet forgotten.

It had taken Kai slightly by surprise that Bryan would even bother to reply at all. Out of all the Demolition Boys, he was the one that seemed to care the least about – well, just about anything. That he would even answer a cry for help unsettled Kai somewhat. It wasn't normal… was it?

Then again, Kai didn't know what his 'normal' was. He thought he did, but then everything got turned on its head at the World Championships. That's what he was doing here now, trying to put everything back in its place. Maybe he was wrong about Bryan. Maybe, below the rough exterior, the grey-eyed teen was actually quite a kind-hearted, soft-spoken individual.

Then the bizarre image of Bryan as some kind of agony-aunt figure wearing thick-rimmed glasses burst into his mind. He was sitting on a plump, burgundy, velvet couch and nodding sympathetically over his clipboard. Kai snorted into his bowl of cereal.

No... who was Kai trying to kid? Bryan was an asshole, everyone knew that. That lavender-grey haired blader from Moscow a couple months back, brooding around the place like a black cloud and swinging his bulky arms about, tearing shreds out of Rei simply because that's how he played the game… that was Bryan. Even now, after that dream, Kai was recalling small flashes of the Bryan he knew at the Abbey – his ever-present scowl, his perfect aura of get-the-fuck-away-from-me. He was forever brawling in the corridors of the Abbey.

Why was Kai asking for his help again?

Shaking his head scoldingly at himself and folding his hand over the mouse, Kai moved the cursor up the screen and clicked on the message, not really expecting much.

_**From: **Bryan Kuznetsov  
**Subject:** ...Dreaming?  
**Date:** 10 November, 00:17 GMT -5  
**To:** Kai Hiwatari_

_I must be. _

_The Great Kai Hiwatari, asking me for help? _

– – – – – – –

Kai stared blankly at the screen. Then his eyes narrowed – but whether it was in confusion or irritation, he wasn't sure. Since when did Bryan Kuznetsov have a sense of humour? Since when did he have a sense of anything but cruelty?

This was… not what he was expecting.

Raising a pissed off eyebrow and muttering under his breath, Kai irritatedly placed his bowl of cereals on the side of the desk and brought his fingers to the keyboard. So Bryan thought he could scoff at his request for help? Not a chance. Kai would not let a second member of the Demolition Boys get one up on him.

Smirking, Kai leant back in his seat to admire his reply and then hit send with a distinct air of superior nonchalance that was, really, for nobody's benefit but his own.

_**From:** Kai Hiwatari  
**Subject:** ...Joking?  
**Date:** 10 November, 13:20 GMT +9  
**To:** Bryan Kuznetsov_

_Fancy yourself as a comedian, Bryan? If by some miracle you've managed to find a minimum wage day job, do the world a favour – don't quit it._

– – – – – – –

_**From:** Bryan Kuznetsov  
**Subject:** Re: ...Joking?  
**Date:** 10 November, 00:22 GMT -5  
**To: **Kai Hiwatari_

_Funny. Looks to me like the only one busting out the jokes is you, Hiwatari._

_Asking me for help?_

– – – – – – –

_**From:** Kai Hiwatari  
**Subject:** Re: re: …Joking?  
**Date: **10 November, 13:26 GMT +9  
**To:** Bryan Kusnetsov_

_Do you want grow to the fuck up and just answer my question._

– – – – – – –

_**From:** Bryan Kuznetsov  
**Subject:** Manners, Kai.  
**Date: **10 November, 00:29 GMT -5  
**To:** Kai Hiwatari_

_Give me a please, and I'll think about it._

– – – – – – –

_What?_

Kai sat back in his chair and, the minute he realized the disbelieving look on his face, wiped it off with an almost equally disbelieving laugh. Bryan couldn't be serious. Kai snatched his bowl of cereal back off the desk and began heaping spoons into his mouth with unnecessary venom, ignoring the fact that he probably looked a lot like Tyson right now.

Bryan was laughing at him!

"No. No, you've got to be kidding me…" Kai muttered as he waved his spoon around airily in the air. He decided to just get up off the chair and walk away from the computer. There wasn't any point in giving the screen his first-class evil glare, since Bryan could hardly see it anyway. First Tala had gotten under his skin after bitching him out yesterday, and now Bryan with his little – what the fuck was that anyway? _Teasing _him?

Well... Bryan was the kind to play with his food, Kai supposed.

Kai strode into the kitchen and deposited the now-empty bowl a little too roughly in the sink, and ran cold water out of the faucet so it was at least rinsed a little. But that was pretty much the extent of his housekeeping.

What was he thinking?

He should have known that he'd get no help from the Demolition Boys. They'd all been raised in the Abbey, after all, and didn't have the luxury of forgetting it like he had. Whatever values Boris tried to drill into his soldiers, they all had it firmly engraved into their skulls. They weren't taught to know sympathy or to lend a hand to those in need. Life was simply survival of the fittest.

Whatever. Kai would survive this on his own, then. He was strong enough.

And then Kai demonstrated that strength perfectly by just about jumping right out of his skin when the apartment's intercom buzzed sharply. On his way over to the hall to answer it, he justified this by the fact that the intercom just didn't buzz all that often. Only three times since he'd been living here, in fact. It's not like he had visitors or anything.

"What?" Kai asked as he punched the little button, not bothering to hide the tetchiness of his tone. He was pissed off already and didn't appreciate how insistent the person on the other end of the line was. The second buzz he could let slide, but the third, fourth, and eighth – no, they weren't necessary at all. If they weren't careful, Kai would probably exploit whatever authority his name and riches gave him, and see to their dismissal personally.

"Good afternoon, Hiwatari-sama," said a young, female voice that Kai couldn't place. "Kato-san is here for you now."

Kai blinked. "What?" he echoed, a little dumbly this time. Why was his chauffeur ready for him? He wasn't going anywhere.

"Your – your driver, Kato-san," she replied, now with a touch of hesitancy. "For your two-thirty appointment?"

"My two thirty… but I didn't – oh," Kai said, his irritation with the girl at the reception evaporating, and replaced by an unwelcome jump in his stomach as he remembered. His eyes flicked sidewards towards the clock on the wall. Almost twenty-to-two. "Shit. Two minutes," he huffed, before buzzing himself out and stalking cloudily to his bedroom.

For some reason that he could not recall, he'd agreed to meet with his grandfather before the trial that was due to begin next week. Business was, at the time, the reason he'd given himself. But there was nothing concerning Hiwatari Enterprises that couldn't be handled by his very expensive team of lawyers.

Glancing at himself as he passed the mirror in his bedroom, he rolled crimson eyes at his bed hair again and rued the thought of appearing before his grandfather in such a state of… unkemptness. Pride would not allow him to look as though he couldn't cope.

Fifteen minutes later and he stepped past Kato into the back of the sleek black car, dressed, refreshed, hair still slightly damp, but now much tamer. It would dry out on the way.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Kai pushed all thoughts of Bryan, Tala and his returning memories firmly to the back of his mind, and focused directly on the task at hand.

**– – – – – – – – – – – – –**

White.

There was too much of it. All four of the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The table and two chairs were the only objects in the room to break the complete absence of colour, though – they were metallic. Sharp, clean, and sterile.

He didn't think there would ever be another colour he'd despise more than grey, Kai thought as he stepped into the small, square room. All of his ghosts from the Abbey were grey. But even he was wiling to admit that he'd probably prefer that comatose hue over all of this white. White was open and pure and in this room it was very misleading. There were too many secrets here. There ought to have been shadows where they could hide.

"We'll be right outside," said one of the two prison guards from behind him. Kai gave them a vague, acknowledging nod, but didn't look their way. His eyes were fixed on the only other man in the room, standing there on the opposite side of the table beside what Kai assumed was his chair for this conversation. He was regarding Kai under a cool, grey gaze and although he no longer wore that expression of smug cruelty, his face had lost none of its former superiority and arrogance. His grandfather.

"Hello, Kai."

Kai scowled. That same, condescending tone as ever, too.

"Why don't you take a seat," he said, gesturing airily to the other chair, nearest to Kai. It wasn't a question.

"No thanks," Kai replied scathingly, sticking his hands into his pockets and breaking the eye contact. He began to step away from the door and moved over to the side wall, the one with the one-way glass in it. He turned and leant his weight back against it with significant nonchalance. "I don't plan on staying long."

Voltaire Hiwatari brushed off Kai's tone as easily as if he were brushing off the trivial moods of a toddler. He shifted his weight from foot to foot for the briefest moments, before turning to stand behind his chair and place his hands on the cool, metallic back of it. Neither of them spoke.

Kai, despite his best efforts, found himself surveying his grandfather not out of concern, but out of a vague, listless curiosity. This man, the only family left to him who, for everything Kai knew about him, still knew him no better than a stranger. Voltaire wore the regulation grey prison uniform with an unmistakable air of regality that Kai wasn't sure what to make of. Bruises and scrapes, evidence of the prison's interrogation techniques of questionable legality, lighted his face and brow but for all the attention Voltaire paid them they may well just have been a trick of the light. And that was fine, for Kai wasn't prepared to feel sympathy for any small injustices paid to this man.

"What are you doing here, Kai?"

Kai blinked and frowned, wondering if this was supposed to be a trick question or not. "Because you requested it," he replied shortly. "And because I decided to come."

Voltaire's mouth twisted into what Kai could only assume was supposed to be smile. He saw nothing but a mocking sneer. "I suppose you have a few… questions to ask of me," Voltaire resumed after a few moment's silence. He backed away from the chair and began to pace around the small room, folding his hands behind his back. Kai maintained his closed off stance against the one-way glass wall, and wondered vaguely why his grandfather wasn't chained to something. This was one of Japan's highest security detention centers. The more he thought of it, the more Kai realized how bizarre it was that he should be able to meet his grandfather at all. He was no two-bit criminal.

"Questions," Kai repeated, "to ask you you?"

It was true, he was looking for answers. But as Kai looked into the unchanging grey eyes of his grandfather, he realized that he'd never find them here. And then he laughed. It was a hollow and bitter sound that echoed and bounced off the walls, filling the small, enclosed white space with the thundering sound of emptiness.

"You're the man who knew nothing but his own pride and greed and took it for invincibility. Who plotted for years to steal away what wasn't his to take. Who left a toddler without his family and sent him away to that godforsaken Abbey. Who used and manipulated him for his own selfish plans – his own _grandson_," Kai spat. "You're a liar, a thief, a murderer and a fool. I already know everything I need to know."

There were a few hard, silent moments during which the two males in the room glared at each other, crimson warring with grey. To anyone on the outside, it would have looked as though a thousand unspoken things were being said. The only thing Kai would have wanted to know is 'why,' but he doubted he would be any better off for knowing the answer.

"The world isn't black and white, Kai," was all Voltaire said in that same, condescending tone, what seems like hours later.

"No," Kai replied, pushing back off the wall and turning towards the door. He finally decided he'd had enough of this man and his taunts. Of course the world wasn't black and white. It was full of white-lies, half-truths, secrets. "It's grey," he said.

His grandfather laughed. "As obstinate as always."

"Apparently. I learnt by example."

"And so happy to play the victim, too."

"Tell me," Kai said through gritted teeth, that last comment having caused something to snap in him. Kai wasn't so pathetic as to play the victim. Was he not trying step-up and piece back together what little he knew of his own life. Suddenly, he just wanted to hurt his grandfather in any way he could. "What is it like," he began, turning to look Voltaire straight in the eyes, "knowing you're a dead man?"

Voltaire didn't even flinch. "What is it like knowing that you speak to one?"

Kai considered this for a moment. He didn't feel anger, anxiety, loss. He didn't even feel an ounce of discomfort. There was nothing. In this white space where there was nowhere to hide, Kai discovered that he was disarmingly at ease, speaking to this man who, soon, would cease to exist. He didn't care in the slightest.

Was he that… hard?

When he looked up again, he found that Voltaire was speaking again. "You see, we're not that different, you and I."

Kai swallowed the horror that statement instilled in him, and only remained in the room long enough to fuel all the hatred he'd ever harbored against his grandfather into one, unbroken, hard glare. "We are nothing alike," he growled, before wrenching the door open and striding out of the room.

It wasn't until he'd exited the building and fallen back into the sleek, black car that he realized his hands were shaking. He balled them into fists and folded his arms around his body, hiding them. The purr of the engine breathed life into the car and as they drove back to his apartment, Kai caught flashes and glimpses of his hard-faced reflection in the car window.

"Nothing alike…" he whispered.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Aha, yeaaah. I hadn't planned for Voltaire to show up again at all, besides his little cameo appearance in the first chapter. I don't even know what happened here. But yeah, here's Kai taking one step forward and two steps back? I hope not, I want to make progress with him, dammit!_

_If it seems like you get whiplash reading this, or like it doesn't quite flow... that's because it doesn't. xD Literally, I had the first half of this (Kai and Bryan) written out like two months ago. This Voltaire stuff happened yesterday and today. So please excuse that. :3  
_

_Ah well. You know, all I wanna know is if Bryan will actually get that please out of Kai. The only please I ever imagine Kai giving is the, 'Bitch, please' kind. XD  
_


End file.
